


patchwork

by peacefrog



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e05 A Life in the Day, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-15 22:19:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18081974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacefrog/pseuds/peacefrog
Summary: Quentin had been thinking about it for days.





	patchwork

Seven hundred eighty-four tiles. Three hundred sixty-five days. Quentin couldn’t stop watching Eliot’s chalk-stained fingers as they charted that day’s progress, his long legs splayed out over the patchwork of the mosaic.

The wineskin on the table was full to bursting. “Tonight we celebrate,” Eliot said.

“What are we celebrating exactly?”

“Oh, Q.” Eliot shot him a look that Quentin felt like a hand at his nape. “It’s our anniversary. And we deserve a night off I’d say.”

Quentin blinked and looked away, his breath quickening. “Okay.” 

Quentin had been thinking about it for days. Weeks? If he were being honest, he’d been thinking about it for a year or more. Eliot stretched lithely across the tiles, arched his back and moaned, his shirt riding up and exposing the jut of his hip where his pants dipped down low. A night not spent working until their fingers locked up and their eyes ached sounded like a dream. It also sounded like the last vestiges of Quentin’s self-control waning at the sight of Eliot’s body before him. At the promise of wine-stained lips and something inevitable giving way.

“That’s it. I’m calling it.” Eliot sat up and smiled. “Get the wine, Coldwater, I’ve had it with this fucking puzzle for today.”

The Fillorian sunset burned out the last of her light, and Quentin felt it pulsing hotly in his blood. He fetched their mugs and the wineskin as Eliot spread a patchwork blanket out over the mosaic, then enchanted the torches to life with the pull of his skilled fingers. Eliot sat down on the blanket and the sky darkened quickly, Fillory’s twin moons watching them like two unblinking eyes.

Eliot patted the spot beside him. “Sit. Drink.” He filled their mugs while Quentin kicked off his boots. 

The collar of Eliot’s shirt hung open, and Quentin couldn’t stop thinking of the exact spot he wanted to drag his teeth. Eliot raised his mug in a toast, drawing Quentin’s eyes to his eyes. “Happy anniversary, Q,” he said. “To our first and last year at this thing.”

Quentin couldn’t keep the desire from his eyes. They toasted and they drank. Quentin sat down his mug and began to fidget, considering for a moment that maybe getting blasted first was the better plan, deciding at once he’d much rather be sober for this. He wanted to feel everything. He wanted always to remember this.

“Hey,” he blurted out.

“Hey.” The word barely had time to pass Eliot’s lips before Quentin was pressing their mouths together in a kiss that was almost chaste. He pulled back and shot Eliot a little smile, resigning himself to move now at Eliot’s pace, or the moment fizzling out before it’d even begun, or giving Eliot anything that he desired.

In his wide-eyed surprise, Eliot slid a hand over Quentin’s on the blanket, moved his body nearer, took Quentin by the nape. Eliot kissed him sweetly, then deeper, tightening his grip on Quentin’s neck until his pulse began to race. Eliot broke the kiss but his hand remained, and Quentin panted against his lips, pressed their foreheads together.

“El. Fuck.” Quentin slid his hand into the open collar of Eliot’s shirt. His skin was so warm. “What the fuck have we been doing for an entire year?”

“Don’t make me think about the puzzle right now.” Eliot laughed, one hand sliding up the back of Quentin’s shirt.

Eliot drew his body closer, and Quentin spilled into Eliot’s lap, threading his fingers in Eliot’s hair and licking into his mouth. His body responded instantly, arousal coursing fiercely through his veins with Eliot’s warm hands on the bare skin of his back. A year was far too long, but really it had been so much longer than that. So long since he’d known this, Eliot’s body pressing against his body and pulling happy sounds from his chest. Eliot’s lips and his hands. He could feel Eliot’s arousal through his pants and felt dizzy with it.

It was Quentin who broke away this time. “Come here,” he breathed, fumbling back and lying down on his side on the blanket. Eliot lay down facing him and Quentin’s greedy hands tugged at his belt. “Take these off,” he said, stealing a kiss from Eliot’s lips.

Eliot curled his strong hand gently around Quentin’s neck. “Are you sure?”

Quentin let out a shuddering breath and took Eliot’s hand, moved it down to feel the swell of his cock tenting the front of his pants. “This feel sure to you?”

“Q…”

“I know what I want, El.”

Eliot gazed at him with wide-eyes, awe-struck in a way Quentin had rarely seen him. He nipped at Quentin’s bottom lip and took hold of his body, pulling Quentin on top of him sliding his hands down the back of his pants. 

Quentin rolled his hips and groaned. “This would be much better without clothes is all I’m saying.”

Eliot smirked and kissed the corner of Quentin’s mouth. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

They undressed in a fit of laughter, knocking into one another awkwardly, Quentin’s shirt momentarily caught over his head. “Some things never change,” Eliot said, nearly choking on the words. 

The night air was cool on his skin, but Quentin was warmed deeply the moment Eliot pulled him back into his arms. He pushed Eliot down to lie on his back and caged him in with his arms. He kissed Eliot deeply, moaning into his mouth, and Eliot’s hands slipped down his back, lower and lower, coming to rest on his ass and drawing him close. Quentin felt raw and open and exposed. Quentin had never felt more alive.

They rutted together like desperate animals, Quentin rocking his hips in a steady motion, Eliot’s hands guiding him along. “I want you in my mouth,” Quentin drawled into the space behind Eliot’s ear, and Eliot let out a sound that was half laugh, half moan.

“Just like the last time?”

“Just like the last time,” Quentin said breathlessly, crawling his way down Eliot’s body, planting kisses to the bare skin of his chest, his navel, the bony jut of his hip. Quentin nuzzled into Eliot’s cock where it lay leaking against his belly and the dizziness of his desire set the world around them teetering on some impossible edge. 

Fillory was spinning, and Quentin swore he felt the mosaic beneath their bodies trembling with the force of it. He’d never wanted anything more. Quentin was drunk with it. He parted his lips and took Eliot into his mouth, his own cock aching terribly between his legs. Eliot let loose a beautiful sound and tangled both hands roughly in Quentin’s hair.

Quentin relaxed into it, letting Eliot guide him with his hands. The thrill of it pulled all the thoughts from his head, allowing Eliot to chase his pleasure with each unencumbered thrust of his hips. “Fuck, Q,” Eliot gasped, his blunt nails digging into Quentin’s scalp as he thrust deep.

Quentin gagged and Eliot came and Quentin swallowed down every drop of him with such pleasure he was certain he would come himself from the thrill of it. Eliot’s body went slack, his chest heaving and his mouth babbling something Quentin couldn’t understand. But he was reaching for Quentin at once as Quentin pulled away, sat back on his heels, took the aching length of his own cock in hand.

“Q… Q…” Eliot chased after him, unsteady and his hair wild as his eyes. “Please, Q, let me take care of you.”

Quentin had no chance to speak. Eliot was on him in an instant, his hands circling Quentin’s neck with a gentleness that made Quentin’s knees turn to water. He slid his thumbs softly down Quentin’s throat, along the thumping of his pulse. _I am alive,_ Quentin thought absently. _With you, finally I am._ And then Eliot’s hands were everywhere, moving down his body, Eliot’s lips on his lips and at the hollow of his throat. He felt himself consumed, Eliot’s deft hand moving to Quentin’s cock and pulling sounds from his very center. 

Quentin came with the force of three hundred and sixty-five days unfolding around them, his hands clinging to Eliot’s back, his teeth finding Eliot’s skin. Eliot moaned and it was like music. A symphony known only to them. They trembled together, collapsing down onto the blanket in a tangle of limbs, Eliot’s heart ticking like frantic clockwork in Quentin’s ear.

“Fuck,” Eliot blurted out, his slick body quaking with love and laughter. “That was…”

“It was,” Quentin breathed out, laughing. “Oh, El…”

Quentin rolled over onto his back and stretched his limbs out long, sated and more relaxed than he’d maybe ever been. The dark sky above sparkled with the light of distant stars and the ever-watchful gaze of twin moons.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Eliot blindly reached out a hand and pressed it to Quentin’s skin.

“I’m right here,” Quentin rested his hand over Eliot’s hand. “I’m here, El. I’m not going anywhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure this missing scene has been written dozens of times over in this fandom, but I just couldn't get this out of my head. But hey, it's a break from the angst-fest so I'm counting this as finally allowing them to be happy...


End file.
